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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITE© STATES OF AMlS'RICA. 



POEMS 



BY 



HELEN SHELBY 




^^^ 



X 



^V.,^ 






Copyrighted, 1891. 

BY 

HELEN SHELBY. 



Van Fleet, Printer, 
S and 90 Centre St., N. Y. 



CONTENTS. 



My Messengers, - - - - - . ^ 

Betrothed, ------ - 8 

Trifles, -------_ lo 

Solace, - - - - - - - - 12 

Evolution, ------- 14 

Deflowered, - - - - - - - 16 

Hold Close to Your Heart Your Grief, - - - 18 

A Conflict, - - - - - .- - - 20 

Illegitimate, ....... 22. 

Retribution, - - - - - - - 23 

Wrestling, -.....- 26 

On the Superscription of "My Dear Friend," - - - 29 

It Coniies to All, - - - . - - 31 

My Soul's Longing, - - - - - - 32 

Platonic Friendship, - - - . - - ^4 

Schwaermerei, - - - - - - - 37 

Through My All Too Sad Existence, - - . 38 

Courage, - - - - - - - - 39 

To Ray, ------- 40 

Despondency, - - - - - - - 42 

Only, ........ ^ 

The Captured Sunbeam, - - - - - - 46 

Impromptu, ------- 48 

Kind Words of Cheer, - - - - - - 50 

Music's Spell, - - - - - - - 51 

Comfort, - - - - - . . - "^^ 

Not I, - - . - - . . . 54 

Ivaloo, - - - - - . - - S6 

Not All In Vain, - - . . - . . 58 

An Appeal, - - - . - . - 60 

Solitude, -----.. 63 

Baby's Power, - - - - - . -65 

A Stronghold, ------- 66 

Words, - - - - . . . - 68 

Impatience, - - - - . - .70 

A Prodigy, - - - . - . - - 72 

Monogamy, -----.. 74 

Farewell, Sweetheart, Farewell, - - - - - 76 



CONTENTS. 



Answered, ---.-.. yg 

Lines, - - - - - . - . yg 

Some Day, -----.. So 

A Memory, ------- 82 

Evening- Shades, ----.. 84 

"May," --...... 86 

Mirage, .-..-.. 88 

Lone-ness, - - - - - - - 90 

The Friend of Aspiring Woman is Man, - - - 92 

Creative Love, ------- 04 

Truth, --...-. g6 

I Know God's Good, - - - - . - 98 

T3o You Know Him ? . - . . . 100 

Contradiction, - - - - . - • . 102 

A May Morn, ----... 104 

Die Zauberstunde, - - - - . . 105 

Conscience, or Tolstoi's "Kreutzer Sonata," - - 107 

Amen, - - - - . - - - 108 

Saved, -----.. 

Fancies Weaving, - - - . . 

My Guiding Star, ----.. 

Nemesis, - - - - - . . 

You Kissed Me, ---... 

Altoona, - - - - . 

'Twas Not To Be, - - - - - . 124 

Why, - - - - ----- 126 

Looldng, ---.... 128 

Longing, --...... 130 

Gone Before, - - - - - . . 132 

To Spring, - . . . - - - 134 

You Would Know, - - . . . - 136 

Sing to Me, Birdling, -._..- i^g 

A Prayer, ----... 140 

Reasonable, - - - . . - . \a2 

When Two Sweet Bonds Would Sever, - - - 144 

Hear I the Sweet Song's Music, . . . . 14^ 

A Voyage, --'--... 146 

Choice, - - - - . . - - 149 

We, --..... . 150 

Grief and Joy, ----... \cq, 



no 
112 
114 
117 
119 
121 



POEMS BY HELEN SHELBY. 



MY MESSENGERS. 



I send them forth — a dearly loved band — 

[As mothers send their lov'd and treasur'd babes: 

Some bearing joy — sweet flow'rs from foreign land- 
While others tell of pain and bitter days. 

Ah ! would that their companionship might give 
To grief the needed solace, and to joy 

The sw^eet emotion — through which angels live — 
Sweet sympathy, thy bond I would employ. 



6 POEMS BY 

To win for love — the heart that bruis'd by hate, 

Had turn'd from trust as one turns from a foe ! 
Give back truth's morn to him, who all too late 

Found hemlock balm, compar'd to falsehood's woe. 
Hearts torn by strife, and feelings black as night — 

I'd clothe in all the splendor of a dawn, 
Whose royal purple, gold and crimson light. 

Should succor faith — wrench truth from falsehood's 
pawn. 

And you, who crown'd with love and happiness — 

I'd pray, but grant through this poor little song, 
A kindly thought to those possessing less — 

Whose shortest day at best does seem too long ! 
And should a future shed on you pain's night; 

A sunbeam in its darkness you will find. 
The memory — that from joy's perfect height — 

Love's eyes you took, and cast them to the blind. 



HELEN SHELBY. ; 

And so I send my messengers to all — 

Nor ask in turn for fame or fame's cold gold: 
What good fame's gold to hearts — that starving call 

Aloud for love — advancements only hold. 
And as reward I ask but that my lay, 

May meet with kindred spirit in your soul ! 
There sound a depth, of higher worth than clay — 

There mind clasp mind — in thought's swift un- 
control. 



POEMS BY 



BETROTHED. 



Yes — bring me your congratulations — 

Best wishes and kisses so sweet: 
I am pledged to a love — all nations 

In that love are blended — do meet. 
In the vastness of kingdoms mighty — 

In broad fields by brotherhood till'd — 
In poverty's squalor unsightly — 

In the tear of the orphan unstill'd: 
In all these — and more — I discover, 

The allegiance my love has sworn — 
[To hold — love as kin — all over 

This world, ev'ry mother's babe born.] 

No more to grow faint and lonely, 
When viewing a mother's bliss — 

Nor again know world-pain: it only 
Follows the hours of idleness ! 



HELEN SHELBY. 

Ah, no ! now a life of sweet labor, 

Has open'd such vistas of bliss: 
[Be to some heart new strength — a saviour — ] 

Is there happiness greater than this ! 
And ev'ry heart is a garden, 

Would I blossoms fragrant and sweet; 
I must exercise care — not harden 

The ground by either drouth or heat. 



10 POEMS BY 



TRIFLES. 



Only a tiny cloud — yet it hid the bright horizon — 
Whose blue had pleased my soul ! 

Only a little word — in tones of doubt — apprising, 
That changes rule the whole. 

In vain the heart laments and struggles so — 

'Tis no avail — change comes in ceaseless flow. 

Only a little glance — mirroring unjust reflection; 

Born of a breath like thought : 
And tho' it die e'en in its birth — it leaves dejection, 

To torture friendship's lot. 
For a short span — the heart by anguish torn — 
Mourns the lost friend — then newer joys are born. 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 1 

Only a little while — and we so griev'd — no more 
complain — 

[Our loss seems more like gain:] 
A hope, that time, replace the friend whom little 
things had slain, 
Arises in the brain. 
And is this fickle ? Nay it must be so — 
Else time stagnate, and joy succumb to woe. 



POEMS BY 



SOLACE. 



Are you sad dear to-day without measure — 

Your sunshine by shadows oppressed: 
Points no hope to a morrow of pleasure — 

Breathes no zephyr of dreamiest rest ? 
Have you scann'd ev'ry book, ev'ry chapter- 

Every turn-down page of a past: 
And lives there no triumph — no rapture, 

For the battles you've fought, to the last ? 

Has your heart grown so weary, trying 

To patch up a love grown old — 
And your soul like the blossoms — dying, 

At the approach of Winter's cold? 
Have you lived to regret the bargain — 

[Wherein reason suffered loss !] 
And love pledged in passion's jargon 

A constancy — time proved, dross ? 



HELEN SHELBY, 13 

Let me mix with your sadness a rapture — 

Exchange shadows for sunshine and rest: 
To the volume now lived a new chapter 

Let me add — and you, too, shall feel blest. 
And to the heart, grown faint with sighing, 

For a love that passed with the day — 
And to the soul all spent in trying 

To struggle 'gainst the weakness of clay, 
I would whisper— ''Faint heart, why borrow— 

And dread coming shadows and frost: 
Is not the mother of reason, sorrow ? 

And reason is worth all it cost." 



14 POEMS BY 

EVOLUTION. 



They slowly crumble, yet they surely fall, 

The old and worn-out fond beliefs — 
The night of superstition flies before 

The dawn of knowledge. Time grants briefs, 
To ev'ry earnest advocate of truth;. 

Whose energies to elevate 
The human race are bent: For naught so sweet — 

As to plant Love, where once grew hate. 

And parent of all woe; has e'er been hate — 

And as hate's offsprings hard we'll find 
The task to reach a higher, nobler plane; 

And leave all malice far behind. 
Yet arm'd with love, with progress, and with light. 

And with this knowledge — "None so kind — 
But can in thoughtless cruelty destroy 

The flesh — true basis of the mind." 



HELEN SHELBY, 15 

Or is it not a thought of hope and truth 

That flesh's but undeveloped mind — 
That we— of flesh— hold in ourselves the might 

To bring forth issue of God-like kind. 
And who would not such heirdom leave his son ? 

Ah! were this truth but understood— 
That flesh is but uncultivated mind, 

And bad byiit undevelop'd good ! 



1 6 POEMS BY 



DEFLOWERED.* 



Would a May morn seem as beautiful, 

Or the long'd for Spring in tune; 
Did they know no promise of buH and shoot — 

No roses — and yet a June ? 
And the luscious sweets of vineyard shades, 

And the wealth of orchard boughs — 
They were as naught did we rob their bloom; 

As the bloom the fruit endows. 

And the hope of Nations — the fireside — -. 

[Whose hearth should know pure love's flame] 
How long ere those sacred fires burn low, 

When we leave to them naught but shame ! 



* Suggested by Helen Gardiner's able article on the age of consent. 



HELEN SHELBY. 17 

When we rob by law the innocence 
Of our daughters — naught but babes — 

And what is the fruit of flesh defil'd ? 

Look about yourself at youth beguil'd 
And lured from the path of right. 

And well 'twill be for your peace of mind, 

If 'mongst the slain no kin you find — 
To haunt you with their namele«^.s blight. 



1 8 POEMS BY 



HOLD CLOSE TO YOUR HEART YOUR 
GRIEF. 



Hold close to your heart your grief — 
Dig a grave for it wide and deep; 

Whose lid you may ever — remove at your pleasure- 
When you would go down to weep : 

Keep it hid from the cold world's stare — 
Who its presence could only resent, 

Or perhaps but ignore. As no one sets store 
Upon treasures whose merit is spent. 

Hold close to your heart your grief — 

Time refuses to linger with pain; 
If him you'd beguile — lend the world a bright smile- 

And a premium at par be your gain. 



HELEN SHELBY, 19 

The world in its short crowded day, 

Has no time to soothe hearts that would break; 
Yet will welcome a lay — sung cheerily and gay — 

With no ghost of regret in its wake. 

Hold close to your heart your grief — 

Dig a grave for it wide and deep; 
Yet close the lid after — lest a cold world's laughter — 

Will mock you as you go to weep — 
An hour — a day — a year — 

And our griefs a forgotten joy; 
For time in grief's wake — will heal ev'ry ache — 

And no scar shall remain to annoy. 



20 POEMS BY 



A CONFLICT. 



I awoke one night with a start, to find 
That grim-eyed reason had been left behind 

In the race between Love's desire — 
And all that remaining night I lay, 
Writhing 'neath fetters that held me a prey, 

To passion's fierce torturing fires. 

But with the first rays of the virgin morn, 
Resolve, renewed courage in my soul was born- 

And boldly I hurled defiance. 
I fear not your arrows nor wordless pain, 
Stern duty has set me my path quite plain: 

Thus girded I'll not yield compliance. 



HELEN SHELBY. 21 

My boast held good till the day had^done— 
Amor's quiver and dart had sank with the sun, 

To rebound with the night, but stronger: 
And I moan'd and ple'd with the darksome night 
To grant me once more the gladdening light, 

Of a morn that were morrow no longer. 

Thus tortured by night, I arise with the dawn, 
And catch at Hope's garments, who speeds along 

To comfort such weak by her beauty. 
And I live on my strength the bright day through, 
But dread the long nights that would urge adieu 

To sentiment, reason and duty. 



22 POEMS BY 



ILLEGITIMATE. 



A child of love ! Ah — blessed heritage — 

[Nay, do not shrink from this as from a blow:] 
A Christ ! who came to show mankind the way 

To light, and truth, and life: came even so. 
He came through love, to build "Thy kingdom come:" 
And this same kingdom, naught but love should 
teach — 
If love through love, have pgw'r to produce shame, 
What chance has creed — who God ! through love 
would reach. 
All procreation does but know one law — 

And all who live and breathe, were wrought as 
thou: 
Then how come they, who through the self same 
means 
Exist — to brand with shame thy fair young brow ? 
All nature does to man, God's laws apprise — 
Then why would man — God's laws illegalize ? 



HELEN SHELBY, 23 



RETRIBUTION. 



'Twas in sweet June, the month of roses, 

When zephyrs woo the wayward breeze ; 
And Nature all her charms discloses 

To Spring — her lover — whom to please; 
She decks her mead's in emerald hue — 

And gems her fields in sweet surprises: 
And suffers swelling hills to woo 

Shy Vales, through means of Love's assizes. 

In sylvan haunts — as vestal maidens — 

Chaste Shadows flee before the Sun: 
They rest on moss grown couches ladeii 

With rapturous ease, till driven from 
Their sweet repose, by light and heat; 

Apprising them of Love's advances — 
Then quickly flee they — 'Tis so meet — 

Flight and pursuit the chase enhances. 



24 



POEMS BY 

The panting Shadows all pursued — 

Into the arms of Evening flee; 
The Sun in sinking feels subdued 

And spent is all his energy. 
But shadows may not revel long, 

Within the sweets of Eve's caresses: 
Queen Night approaches with her throng 

Of mellow charms: This Eve' distresses. 

And makes him long to tear asunder; 

All bond of other love than this: 
He's clasped by Night — who, fair pretender — 

In search of Dawn — would feed love's bliss, 
On such joys blossoming on her way, 

That teach love's art — her own enhancing— 
Nor asks she whether Shadow's day 

Ends in the sweets she finds entrancing. 

Fond Evening dies 'neath her caresses, 
While Shadows yet haunt moonlit Night; 



HELEN SHELBY. 25 

And does Night somehow feel distresses 
Will be hers, with the morning's light ? 

That Dawn to whose embrace she hies; 
May doubt her and her happinesses: 

May mate with Day — crushed, scorned, Night dies — 
While Shadows with her shade Day blesses. 



26 POEMS BY 



WRESTLING. 



As gladiators of old — 

Their muscular bodies bared; 
I sit and watch two wrestlers: 

Both agile, strong, well paired. 
In the music of their rhythmic motion, 

I am lost in a mazy trance — 
Or as leaves on the breast of the ocean, 

Can but whirl on in endless dance: 
So my thoughts, too, go whirling and spinning, 
While I picture the tempter and sinning — 

And question the wisdom of chance. 

What chance have some on life's sea } 
Depriv'd of ev'ry rudder and guide — 

What can they do other but drift 
In the wake of a crushing tide. 



HELEN SHELBY. 27 

On the banks there are those who in waiting- — 
As vultures devouring their prey — 

Point the finger of shame, underrating 
The conditions that virtue did slay. 

Yet I tell you truly that filth far more 

Is washed to the river from either shore 
Than is bred in its bed of spray. 

Will he conquer } He — the one — 

I'd know with vict'ry crowned: 
His strong form steeled for battle, 

Each swelling muscle unbound ! 
He boldly advances toward danger, 

Ignores a possible fall — 
One step — he shakes hands with the stranger — 

And virtue is forced to the wall. 
Ah ! make one more effort — again arise — 
The arena re-enter — the tempter surprise 

By a will that would triumph o'er all ! 



28 POEMS BY 

Ah ! no longer a sense of loss 

Is his, or a battlefield: 
He cannot enlist in ranks 

When his motto is: "To sin yield !" 
All defiled is the Godlike potion, 

Of will power, muscle and brain: 
The weak are a waste in life's ocean — 

And their day but confusion's gain. 
And I sit and regret that sight was given 
To behold our heros from those heights driven 

Whereon love had placed them in vain. 



hELEN SHELBY. 29 



ON THE SUPERSCRIPTION OF "MY DEAR 
FRIEND." 



How coldly gleams from paper, stiff and white — 
This calm, and often ill adapted phrase: 

Were it not better to omit it quite — 

Than mystify love's flame by friendship's haze ? 

'Tis sweet to note a "Dear One's" cherish'd haitd 
Long ere, with eagerness, we break the seal: 

Tis sweet to hope and dream of sympathy — 
And sweet, the nearness of a friend to feel ! 

But as the spray from unseen fountain cold, 

Produces an involuntary chill — 
And forces scarce born hope embrace a grave — 

And bids the eager fluttering heart be still: 



30 POEMS BY 

And nips both bud and twining tendrils fair — 

Of friendship and anticipation born, 
While vain regret flood all the soul with pain — 

That we'd in gaining ev'ning — miss'd the morn. 

Thus even so this worn out, well meant phrase 
Of "My Dear Friend" — affects the hung'ring heart, 

That absent tho' would hold a nearer place 
Than we assign to those in friendship's mart. 

In feelings of this kind — am I alone 1 
Alone! to see the sure approaching end: 

For wider grows the separating stream — 

That scarce the plank can bridge — of *'My Dear 
Friend." 



HELEN SHELBY, 31 

IT COMES TO ALL. 



It comes to all — 
This fierce wild prayer for rest — 

Some people call despair ! 
When blossoms loose all fragrance — 

No future day beams fair: 
When joy itself casts shadows, 

Into the aching breast — 
And sorrow builds grief's trenches 

And walls — at pain's behest. 
The midday's sun and splendor, 

Is here as darkest night: 
Ah! even lightning's flashes 

In vain, would here prove light! 
The chill of death's set stillness. 

Is as heat compar'd to snow — 
In the midst of living sorrow. 

In the face of voiceless woe. 



32 POEMS BY 



MY SOUL'S LONGING. 



Oft times I feel so infinite a longing-. 

To shape for all mankind a lasting blessedness: 

To wipe all tears, and grant to night her morning — 
All bless with love's own rare and perfect happiness. 

The gnawing worm of sorrow take from many; 

Recall the rose, whose budding bloom had been 
destroyed, 
And forth to royal state send all — or any — 

Whose soul retained royalty undefiled. 

All hurtful bondage lift from church and chapel — 
Free! should the honest layman fearless doubt ex- 
press; 
The right of Heaven not retained as chattel- 
All, all God's children — whom the Father love 
and bless. 



HELEN SHELBY. 33 

And Babes should find in every woman Mothers ! 

No frown, no chilling sigh their blessed coming 
mar; 
No wealth of gold so harden hearts of Brothers — 

For all mankind are kin — with love at par! 

And love should dwell in each of my dominions — 
Black hatred ne'er be known in all Eternity ! 

And each and ev'ry dift'rence of opinion — 

Bring forth dissensions daughter — Sympathy ! 



34 POEMS BY 



PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP. 



Priceless gem ! of love's own setting 

In affection's diadem: 
Priceless treasure — joy begetting — 

I'll proclaim you to all m.en. 
Oft' I'd heard Plato derided; 

By the many — by the few — 
All of whom proclaim'd decided, 

Plato's friendship would not do! 

Overwhelm'd by our discov'ry 

They may draw the inference: 
*'Tho' now friends — we'll soon prove lovers !' 

And so end friends' conference ? 
But I know your troth is plighted; 

Same as mine — to foreign port: 
Friendship thus securely righted 

Tends to fortify love's fort. 



HELEN SHELBY. 35 

Thus I gaze on you and ponder — 

On my own love's perfectness; 
Hear your voice, its wealth and wonder — 

Know it echo's happiness! 
All your charms they cannot harm me — 

All your arts the friend may know: 
All your sweets — "Ah, that alarms me !" 

Plato — Plato ! let me go. 

In a whirlpool seem my senses — 

Passion goads my soul to sin: 
Life — its aim — view'd thro' such lenses, 

Satan's revelry and din. 
And you stand, serenely smiling; 

Calling up our friendship's bond — 
Offer balm in tones beguiling, 

Waving Plato's useless wand. 

Dare I trust my eyes to scan you. 
View this form's each faultless curve; 



36 POEMS BY 

And yet hope that nature plann'd you 

For another man to love ? 
Plato — Plato ! this your doing: 

You've enthrall'd my soul for aye ! 
Under friendship's mask, your wooing" 

Has robb'd my peace — life's holiday. 



HELEN SHELBY. 37 

SCHW^RMEREI. 



I look'd into your eyes, Love — and I saw — 
The deeps; the whole of an immortal soul: 

And not a shadow rose to mar or flaw 

With passion's night, the symmetry of the whole. 

Long, long, I gazed — at last with yearning touch 

My lips sought yours — O, bond of loving much. 

I look'd into your eyes, Love — and I knew 
A knowledge, flooding all my soul with joy ! 

As you loved me, so loyal, pure and true. 
You never loved before: Could aught alloy .^ 

Or dim my great, my worldless happiness — 

My Christ is born — a kingdom I possess. 

I look'd into your eyes Love — and I saw — 
The mysteries of heav'n therein made clear: 

And what is heav'n else than a diviner law, 
A realm of greater forces than we know here t 

And only love, born fond, yet all too late. 

Can clearly show us heaven, interposed by fate. 



38 POEMS BY 



THROUGH MY ALL TOO SAD EXISTENCE * 



Through my all too sad existence. 
Beamed a joy, a radiance rare: 

Now that dearest joy has faded — 
I am wrapped in night's despair. 

In the dark a child grows fearful — 
And its soul knows terrors wild; 

And to banish dread and terror 
Loudly — loudly sings the child. 

I a wretched child am singing 
Loudly in my soul's great need: 

Though the song it sound not happy, 
Yet my soul's from terror freed. 



* From the German of Heine. 



HELEN SHELBY. 39 



COURAGE.^ 



Oh heart, come cease your sorrow — 
And grief's yoke cast away: 

You've borne a past's tomorrow, 
You yet can bear today. 

Come boldly forth in armor 
My soul and dare be free — 

There's more for you to garner 

Than "Love's May" — fruit and tree. 

Though grief your bosom treasures. 
Yet forward in the dawn — 

You know the fullest measures 
Sings the stricken — dying swan ! 



* From the German of Geibel. 



40 POEMS BY 



TO "RAY." 



Your image floods my soul with rapture; 

The splendor of a new-born May 
Has dawned ! For you the gods I'd capture 

And bid them worship queenly "Ray." 

And He who fashioned light and gladness, 
And bade the night o'ertake the day, 

Combined both day and lunar madness 
In your production, peerless "Ray." 

Your matchless eyes of star-like splendor, 
Ejecting scorching shafts alway. 

That burn with a fire still fierce, yet tender, 
Forging my soul to yours, sweet "Ray." 



HELEN SHELBY. 41 

Are but an harbor, mirroring, guarding 

Thy pure, fathomless soul of day, 
With which a God adorned my darling. 

My own, my all, my matchless "Ray." 

"My Ray !" All mine, and naught shall sever 
Those links wrought by fond love's array; 

My "Ray"— mine own, my all forever, 
My light, my life, my soul's sole "Ray ! 



42 



POEMS BY 



DESPONDENCY. 



I fell depressed and ill in spirit; 

Old aches and long-forgotten woes 
Gath'ring new pain, from a past sea, laden 

With griefs, awaken scarce hush'd throes, 
Swelling them on to a mighty river 
Beneath whose rushing waves I quiver 

And bend, and moan like a broken reed. 

No blue sky o'er the dark swoll'n waters 

Appears, to lighten my sad day; 
No star of Hope, with its silver breaking 

The dense and pall of grave-like grey — 
From the midst of which dread demons beckon, 
Goading me on to a fall, they reckon 

The Grand Finale of a broken creed— 



HELEN SHELBY, 43 

Of a broken Faith, placed high as heav'n, 

A trust in Love, a hope in Truth; 
And blasted they sank, I left remaining; 

[A broken spar from the wreck, in sooth!] 
Drifting despondent on life's sea ever. 
Through whose dense and gloom an harbor never 

Beckons — to grant me the rest I need. 

Then, in moments like these, when wild and frenzied 

With a yearning knowing no relief — 
When all Love, and Trust, and Truth, and Heaven 

Seem wrecked on the shores of unbelief; 
When in vain I pray and plead with a God 
To spare but this once, to abandon the rod, 

No avail are prayers — the heart must bleed. 



44 POEMS BY 

ONLY. 



Only to see you^darling, 

Once more with love's light on your face- 
Hear your impassion'd whisper, 

Feel the rapture of your wild embrace: 
Note the musical cadence, 

In the rise and fall of your voice — 
Ah, for this I'd dare perdition — 

Challenge death — its tomb — yet rejoice. 

Only to know — my darling, 

That we in some future should meet — 
Where present heart-ache and sorrow. 

As an off ring were laid at love's feet. 
Trustingly then life's burden 

I could bear on — contentedly; 
Knowing a splendor was waiting 

In the dawn of eternity. 



HELEN SHELBY. 45 

Only to feel — my darling, 

That whatever is — is best: 
That joy holy, and lasting — 

Can but blossom on sorrow's breast. 
That love's intense emotion 

Surging madly through heart and brain; 
Is the magnet from higher forces— 

And that nothing has been in vain. 



46 POEMS BY 



THE CAPTURED SUNBEAM.^ 



To earth came a beautiful sunbeam 

One early morning in May; 
And straying with dewdrop and blossom, 

Was lost upon life's highway. 
And aimlessly happy it wandered — 
The dewdrops' strange brilliancy pondered, 

The blossoms' rare fragrance inhaled, 
In heaven's bright azure it revelled; 
The dawn's golden glory disheveled — 

And yet in its flight was not stayed. 

New wonders, new realms it must measure — 
This sunbeam of light and day; 

New treasures must view, and new pleasures 
Be taken as sunlight's pay. 



* To Almah. 



HELEN SHELBY. 47 

Like a will-o-the-wisp was its flutter; 
For a moment 'twould pause; then in utter 

Abandon continue its flight. 
Thus onward, ever onward; not heeding 
Fond prayers, tender sighs and sofl: pleading, 

That to grant — would but lessen its light. 

Thus over this wide world it wander'd; 

This sunbeam of light and day: 
And none of its pure gold it squander'd — 

But held it throughout life's May. 
At last fanned by dreamiest breezes, 
Murm'ring gently of a love that pleases; 

It strayed in my darling's hair! 
And there with its pure golden splendor — 
This sunbeam now dwells, but to render 

My darling — my own — still more fair. 



48 POEMS BY 

IMPROMPTU. 



Why should we closely cherish grief or sorrow — 
When life's spring pulses might yet rarest rapture 
know, 

Why cloud today with phantoms of tomorrow — 
All — all too soon ! Love's pleasures from us go. 

Why feel the twilight's lengthy shadows gather; 
While yet the sun — scarce born — makes glad the 
budding day; 
Why look for Winter's frost and chill — much rather — 
A-Maying go with love— while yet the month be 
May! 

Why harbor in our soul the bitter sayings — 

And taunts but given when the heart was over full: 

Why charge it debt — since tender sighs and prayings 
Have canceled all. Ah ! who 'gainst love would 
pull. 



HELEN SHELBY. 49 

Not I, nor you: As we have felt love's blessing — 
Its rare sweet pain — its joys — its bliss now flown: 

And could we now, with lingering hand, caressing — 
Consign love's winding sheet to spin and make no 
moan ? 

Ah, no ! such cruel task from which we shudder — 
As laying by the corse of ''One" for whom we moan ; 

We'd leave to those who ne'er knew love as rudder: 
Who buried only that they ne'er in life had known. 



50 POEMS BY 

KIND WORDS OF CHEER. 



So little they cost us — those priceless gems — 

Encouraging faint hearts anew: 
So little they cost — yet their worth is told 

In the success of all that's true! 
The stongest heart it will sometimes feel 

A very castaway of hope: 
And the bravest will, the most fearless mind — 

Doubt its power with fate to cope. 
To all thus in need give the word of cheer, 
'Twill better the world — and bring God more near. 

And God's own messenger — it seems to me — 

[Helping many to higher way:] 
Is the word of good cheer and trusting glance, 

Bidding the struggler "Hope and pray!" 
Ah! many a goal that was never won — 

Not but that the road was as clear. 
As others' paths toward similar end, 

But because there had been no cheer. 
Ah, would that true effort might ever find 
Cheer filling the heart and feeding the mind. 



HELEN SHELBY. 51 

MUSICS SPELL. 



What is this unnamed, nameless something 
Running riot within my soul ? 

What this engulfing sea of emotion, 

Breaking 'way from all known control ? 

My poor heart in its longing and sadness 
Cries for light in my night of pain: 

My veins bursting with a strange fierce madness- 
Flood with lava my burning brain. 

Love's June with its radiant pleasures — 

And hopes for a future — "To Be" — 
Arise in the maze of the music's swell, 

And die — cruelly mocking me ! 
And the music continues its measure — 

And my pulses their wild, mad throb; 
And the ghosts of departed pleasures — 

Arise as a menacing mob. 



52 POEMS BY 

With their spectral hands, palsied and lifeless, 

They clutch at my wild throbbing heart: 
And the nameless pain of the scorpion's lash 

Is as nothing- compar'd with my part. 
And yet fiercer, more dread, grows the conflict, 

Raging madly within my breast — 
And louder — more clamorous the craving 

Of my tried weary soul for rest. 

The music is hushed — the spell broken — 

Again I smile, carelessly free; 
And can scarce recall message or token — 

The strain bore from you, dear, to me ! 
And the past again slumbers serenely — 

My corse 's once more laid to rest: 
And my pale face grows calm, my mien queenly, 

'Tis good to have loved, but not best. 



HELEN SHELBY. 53 

COMFORT. 



I know that sometime soon, this longing — 

This fierce unrest, this strife, this pain, 
Must cease. Has not all grief appalling, 

But its 6wn limit } Hope's not vain — 
That bids me trust the future dawning 

Of a nobler, grander, better day — 
That will lead my soul past abyss yawning, 

Past sinkhole deep, to higher way ! 
Where Love and Truth shall stand united — 
Trust, not with betrayal, requited. 

Whence is this day and where its dawning .^ 

Ah, hush! my soul doth hold it so; 
No taunt from you, nor science fawning 

Upon my reason shall bid it go. 
This blessed comfort, this hallow'd truth — ' 

My sinking soul shall ever cheer; 
That God's great mercy, His love in sooth 

Through life and death shall hold me near. 
And near, yet nearer to Him I'll be; 
When by death set free, His face I see ! 



54 POEMS BY 



NOT I. 



I cannot chide — nor do I reproach you — 

Far be from my soul ev'ry unjust thought: 
You're yet the same, as when I first lov'd you; 

The same — still the same — 'Tis I who've been taught. 
Taught — that all reasoning ends but in folly — 

Taught — that the crown of this folly is love ! 
Taught — but you frown and turn from me wholly — 

What use is the cot when flown has the dove ? 

I do not mourn, I cannot regret you — 

My soul is not filled with shadows and gloom: 

The sun still shines bright, sweet laughter delects 
me — 
The silk with the cotton is spun is life's loom. 



HELEN SHELBY. 55 

The thread spun by Love — your falsehood sever'd; 

But Truth the rare spinner a timely loop made: 
And hooding nude folly — the ever irreverend — 

Continued the web, but by Fate to be stay'd. 

And Fate has been kind, but tighten'd the tension — 

Granting to ideals but reason's room: 
And I'm not sad that in ev'ry dissension, 

More cotton than silk is shown in the loom. 
Now knotted by logic — coupled by reason, 

I view all love with a critical eye; 
And draw the line tight on emotional treason — 

And regret no lost love — ah, no, not I! 



56 POEMS BY 



IVALOO.* 



As the rhythm of many waters — 

In their melody sweet and strong; 
On their way to the mighty ocean, 

Find no Summer day too long: 
So I, as I stand here musing, 

Grow unconscious of time's adieu, 
While lost in thy fair, proud beauty — 

Thou dream queen — thou Ivaloo! 

Fair proud face, what sea of glory 

Lent thee to earth, that art might live ! 

And art thou flesh; or but a story — 
And can thy soul this doubt forgive ? 



*A picture by Cheney, 



HELEN SHELBY. ^7 

Art thou a princess of house most proud ? 

[As thy brow seems made for a crown:] 
And do heav'ns o'er thee, e'er wear a cloud — 

And does the sun look ought but down. 

Thy beauty's rhytmical splendor — 

Would dim e'en the sun's bright ray: 
Thy luminous eyes, so tender. 

Are as stars within hope's bright day. 
Ah! I would that I knew a story — 

A hundredth part so sweet as thou; 
Or could picture a future glory 

Surpassing the light on thy brow ! 

Thy purity, chaste, sweet maiden — 

As enthron'd in thy form and face; 
Has helped me to solve the problem 

[How sinners are saved by grace.] 
For sinners are unbelievers, 

Scoffing at all things pure and true — 
Who cannot believe what they see not — 

Ah! I would they knew Ivaloo. 



58 POEMS BY 

NOT ALL IN VAIN. 



I may not reach the summit's splendor — 

Appreciation grants to art: 
My name may die and no defender 

Arise; to testify my heart 
Was in the work I loved beyond compare ! 

And loving it — what would I more 
Than while I live — love on: Farewell despair, 

I fear no death to true love's lore. 

My deeps may never mirror oceans, 

Nor sound the classics' master works; 
My songs not search the soul's emotions 

To depths, where fiercest passion lurks: 
Which once awakened, know no stilling — 

But sear and scorch the despoiled soul ! 
And the fires rage on — defy all killing — 

Fed by the fuel of uncontrol. 



HELEN SHELBY. 

I do not ask a great stream's power — 

I'll be contented if I may 
But be a rippling brook, with flower 

Banks and silvery spray. 
There happy childhood shall find its ocean 

And palaces where mermaids dwell — 
'Yes, brooks to them mean magic potion, 

A message, sent by ocean's swell !" 

I may ne'er shine as stars shine yonder — 
[Constellations, in wisdom's sky:] 

And tho' my dreams be filled with wonder — 
I may ne'er wake to find fame nigh ! 

Yet if but light enough I scatter 

To pierce the night of some heart's pain. 

My aim is reached: Naught else can matter— 
*'My day in life's not been in vain." 



59 



6o POEMS BY 



AN APPEAL. 



To you — 

Who stroll a careless lounger — 

Among the flower beds of song; 

There assimilate sweets and fragrance 

From well assorted throng: 
Dost ever think on't — 

While treading under critics foot some gem 
'Tis not so much the tread that hurts — 

As the weight — by which you send: 
To waters of oblivion, 

That — intended a diadem- 
To crown the singer's brow, 

While its well-earned light should lend- 
To him new vigor; 

That he may ever better reach your heart; 
And reaching yours — reach others, 

Who of the universe are part. 



HELEN SHELBY. 6 1 

To you — 

Who ruling thought — do rule the world ! 
Ever exercising sway; 

O'er all the mighty problems, 
That flood man's brain, or crowd mind's day — 

I would appeal for justice ! 
Not for the groundless, bootless praise 

Of fallow mouths — 
That recognize but weeds in untilled soil 

As fruitful issue. 
Ah ! no— the ''press" who leading thought would 
raise, 

And raising recompense true merit — 
Must understand "need's" toil ! 

And judge between the usurer, 
Who but courts fame's gold, from greed— 

And the God-born struggling genius, 
Bound by galling chains of need. 



62 POEMS BY 

To you — 

Who are call'd "The People !" 
Whom I love — and of whom I am one: 

The People ! whose voice is the nation ! 
Whose will grants might her run. 

Whose pow'r determines each crisis — 
Whose wisdom the wells of truth; 

Whose errors and digressions 
But the outcome of national youth ! 

Whose weakness, the strength warding off- 
Stagnation of perfect things — 

And whose love PU strive and labor for, 
Until sweet fruit it brings. 

And ever hold as cherish'd truth — 
That you are the nation's heart — 

Worthy my song, my love; 
And the soul of the singer in part. 



HELEN SHELBY. 63 

SOLITUDE. 



Wearily in the evening's stillness — 

I am sitting alone in the gloom: 
While the plaintiff strain of the soughing breeze 

Fills with a sadness my desolate room. 
Outside in the copse not far distant 

Breaks the June-laugh of childhood at play; 
Whil'st I of December but listen — 

In vain long for the pleasures of May. 

Through the mystical shadows receding; 

Bearing with them the burden of years — 
My soul catches glimpses of vanished bliss, 

Smiling wistfully back as through tears. 
And the evening breezes blowing 

Waft me the fragrance of a bygone Spring, 
While the joyous bursts from childish lips, 

Flood my loneness with envy's sting. 



64 POEMS BY 

Did my Spring know no promise — no gladness- 
Were its blossoms whilst lasting less sweet? 

My sorrow less hallowed — love's madness 
While it lasted — less madness complete ? 

Then why am I sad and thus lonely — 
Nursing solitude's mildewing breath ! 

For solitude's selfishness only — 

As a grave-digger — covers love's death. 



HELEN SHELBY. 65 



BABY'S POWER. 



Fair dimpled cheeks and eyes that shine — 
Breathing of fruit of a love sublime — 
Have pow'r to stir this heart of mine, 
With a pain that's bliss and joy divine. 

Ah ! beauteous babe, from whence the light 
Of matchless eyes — if not the might— 
Of burning, creative love so bright. 
Had placed them a beacon for the night. 

Of this world full of sin and selfishness — 
That you enter'd at beck of love's caress; 
And love having sent you we must confess 
Babe's pow'r and mission is only to bless. 



66 POEMS BF 



A STRONGHOLD. 



Oh, Spring ! sweet bond of life- 
How beautiful are't thou ! 
How like a breath from heav'n 
Each fragrance laden breeze : 
Each grass shoot speaks of bliss, 
Of higher life each bloom — 
And Faith buoy'd up by Hope 
In thee God's message sees. 

Oh, Spring — thou link 'twixt love 
And the dead dull gray of time; 
Who'd soothe the aching heart. 
Parched by a Summer's drouth — 
And resurrect the love 
Chilled through, by Winter's breath- 
Return the waning flame 
To hallowed fires of youth. 



HELEN SHELBY, 67 

Oh, Spring, thou balm — thou hope 
Of ev'ry stricken soul ! 
Thou inspiration bless'd, 
Leading the spirit on. 
Who would dispute thy right 
To reign: Oh, prince of peace ! 
Fill, fill — my doubting heart — 
Each page, each leaflet con. 

Erase the words of pain — 

Of bitterness and doubt; 
Lift weeds and tares and thorns — 

All hatefulness cast out. 
And then instead thereon, 

Trace thou in letters bold — 
This heart forevermore 

A spring of love shall hold. 



POEMS BY 



WORDS.* 



Why do we weep for them — 

Who lay life's weary burden down; 
Who, having braved the conflict, 

Change the contest for the crown ! 
Who, being tired and weary, 

Stop for a moment's rest. 
Bathing their worn, tried spirits 

In waves of Lethe's crest. 

We could not wish them back, 
To take their burdens up anew; 

And bid their weary feet 

The old hard, thorny path pursue. 

* Pol. — 'What do you read, my Lord?" 
Hamlet— "Words, words, words."— Shakespeare. 



HELEN SHELBY. 69 

The rarest nosegay of life's joys, 

However sweet it be; 
Will fade in time — the thorns remain; 

Remaining, prick the tree. 

What, after all, is life? 

And what is death ? perhaps Life's morn ! 
For who can say we live; 

Who breathe ! Exist, yes — yet unborn; 
For while the soul's subject to the flesh, 

We moan and mourn our dead, 
And cling to clay — our kind — nor know 

Our wants are more than bread. 



70 POEMS BY 



IMPATIENCE. 



How can I wait, dear heart, until you reach me; 

How the fierce longing curb, setting my soul orr 
flame; 
How baffle passion's cruel fire to teach me 

A love far mightier, than all my love for Fame ? 

My soul, now yours, on viewing others' bliss 

Turns faint; a gnawing hunger eats my heart 
away; 
I miss you, dear ! Your presence, love fraught kiss, 
Are more than life to me ! more dear than I can 
say. 

Of heavenly joys, and pleasures rare, *'to be" — 
I may prate and prattle to my heart's content; 

Yet of this deep longing — rarer agony — 
No word be spoken, lest a cruel word invent 



HELEN SHELBY. 7 1 

Some ruthless falsehood — a charge of nameless 
crime — 
How we had fallen from the heights they boast to 
hold! 
We ! fallen — who raised by a love sublime 

Heaven's vistas reached; from thence to joys un- 
told— 

Were beckoned to the royal feast of gods, 

And there love's rarest nectared wine we quaffed. 

Come, hasten love ! alone dark grows life's road. 
And bitter all life's sweets, at mem'ry of that 
draught. 

Clasp'd in your fond embrace, I laugh to scorn all 
fear ; 
In you alone rests all my happiness complete. 
Apart from you my life's one unshed tear — 

That aches, and pains, and burns — Ah! haste my 
sweet. 



72 POEMS BY 

A PRODIGY. 



Within the moist productive soil of circumstance — 

Fruitful condition an imprint made. 
Rough elements grew kind — as grave-faced sister 
Chance 

On the atom smiling, her hand had laid; 
And all vow'd their united energies should tend, 

To bring about the grandeur of this plot — 
If accident — nature's handimaid — likewise would lend 

Her forces to help shape this mortal's lot. 
I'll lend you, quoth the wily maid — that what when 

lent— 
Shall make men wish to prove all nature accident. 

And was it planned — or was it accident — 
Seclusion proved this mortal atom's lot; 

Until such time, when all his wond'rous forces blent — 
With one accord, the highest regions sought. 



HELEN SHELBY, 



73 



And what know we of regions higher than the stars ? 

And star he proved who knew but nature's arts; 
The world had been his stage and passions' fiercest 
wars — 
The school, that taught him best to reach men's 
hearts ! 
Yes, accident — the wily maid — had augur'd well — 
A prodigy he proved — His name? Ah! time will tell. 

A prodigy is never nature's accident; 
But a fullness nature grants — 

Commonplace's compliment. 



74 



POEMS BY 



MONOGAMY. 



Nay, do not vow — and swear to know no change- 

[But knaves and fools forswear tomorrow:] 
It is not in the might of man to range 

His feelings, as his work. Why borrow — 
To future's credit, bonds you can't redeem 

When due 1 Tomorrow's appetite may crave 
Far different viands, from these that seem 

So palatable now ! Can sameness save — 
Or grant to taste restriction: or new charm 

Give; when the old has fled beyond recall .'' 
Nay, nay ! believe me: vows can only harm — 

Cold duty mock — and all restriction pall 
The ardor of a love, that would be free ! 

And to be love it must be free ! for naught 
Compell'd by bond, is worthy of love's fee. 

We oft'times crave a bauble, yet when bought. 



HELEN SHELBY. 75 

We find it hardly worth the price it cost: 

And gladly would dispose of it again 
To one who sees the worth we saw — but lost ! 

Is constancy a dream, then, all in vain ? 
Nay it is one of nature's foremost laws: 

[What else I pray, from when life first began — 
But constant evolution without pause.] 

And we, who'd clothe tomorrow in the plan, 
And worn out garments of a past's — today — 

Commit a grievious wrong; for which the lash 
Of reason — coming later — will repay, 

And show that in our vows we had been rash. 



76 POEMS BY 

FAREWELL, SWEETHEART, FAREWELL. 



Across the span of oceans — 

And distant hemispheres, 
O'er worlds of deep emotions; 

Over seas of sighs and tears. 
Through intervening sorrow — 

Bridging separation's spell, 
I'd pass, and for thee borrow, 

This wish — Sweetheart — Farewell 

Farewell ! as sweetest anthem, 

Ush'ring in a newer lay— 
Or chimes, whose tones a ransom, 

Ring out the dying day. 
Flooding past, pain and sorrow, 

With a strange, sweet happiness; 
This wish — that thy tomorrow, 

A — "Fare Thee Well" — may bless. 



HELEN SHELBY. 

Farewell! crown of good wishes; 

Prayer — anthem, song and hymn: 
Farewell ! Oh, wish traditious — 

Flooding sorrow's chalice brim ! 
Yet to its dregs I'd drain it, 

While clear as a silvery bell — 
My soul's best wish proclaimed. 

To Thee ! Sweetheart — Farewell ! 



77 



;8 POEMS BY 

ANSWERED. 

What would I do — 

Were he to whom I cling — he whom I love — 

To prove untrue? 
I scarce can say. 

I may not even think my fate so sad — 
And can but pray, 

That He — my king, my lord and noble sire; 
In whom all greatness finds a fitting shrine — 

To whom but pure and lofty thoughts aspire — 
Can do no evil thing ! 

And yet you try — 

And press me hard to know just what I'd do, 

What say — what cry ! 

Ah — hush ! Why torture me with thoughts untrue- 
Thoughts, that tomorrow lend death's hue — 
That rob from Heaven all light and blue, 
And force to hell the soul that knew 

Love's cloudless sky. 

When hope no longer holds us fast — 
When love, the morn of life, is past, 
Yet breath, the fount of life, will last — 

We living — die ! 



HELEN SHELBY. 79 



LINES. 



Never backward look — 
While upward and onward your way, 
Tends to heights which to reach you pray. 

Far, far rather brook — 
Future's darkest. 

Most dread look. 
Than that your glance fall back 
On phantoms and corses cov'ring the track 

You took. 
They lie far behind — 
Leave it to the wind; 
To bemoan and chant dirges 
Where the sea's wave submerges 

In mist and in spray: 
There making a grave 

'Neath the billowy wave; 
To last — yes, for aye 1 
For lost loves and vows alack. 
Never look back. 



8o POEMS BY 

SOME DAY. 



By rock obstructed, by tempest tossed — 
By bowlders narrow'd — island embossed: 
Following a channel of serpentine wind, 
[With prospect and meat for fisherman's kind:] 
A clear, crystal stream down a mountain's side. 
Once went speeding by, t'ward the ocean's tide. 
And tho' obstructed in both course and flight — 
''Some day" it should swell the ocean's might. 

One little word left an overfull heart. 
Through lips purged by pain that of life is part: 
Its abode it took in the haunts of men; 
From whence never in time to stray again; 
Until accomplished man's lasting good — 
Until ''Some day" by all understood — 
At last upon all dawn the age of love, 
And earth but re-echo the heav'ns above. 

One bold move in the direction of truth — 
[Tho' held in contempt by both age and youth;] 



HELEN SHELBY, 8 1 

Will win its way despite briar and thorn — 
Until at last like a Phoenix new-born — 
From the fires — persecution built as its pyre; 
It will rise in glory, high — and higher: 
Until its pure essence, diffusing rare light — 
**Some day" link all flesh with the Infinite ! 

And *'Some day," Ah, some day! such age must 

dawn — 
Life's psychical morning be wrested from pawn ! 
The dew drops of wisdom be granted to all — 
Redemption not purchased at cost of a fall. 
But guided by truth's unerring light; 
Man steadily grow in a God-like might: 
That shall force from the grave the key of life — 
Assist death to produce — thus end a strife — 
That has tortur'd and fill'd man's soul with dread, 
[Lest he in dying — forever prove dead.] 
Ah! hasten "Some day" of psychic triumph. 
And sever the head of fear from the rump 
Of ignorance — all advancements drouth — 
And bring us the key note of psychic youth. 



82 POEMS BY 

A MEMORY. 

My ling'ring feet traverse the woodland grove; 

Where we together wandered long ago: 
Familiar landmarks — loit'ring by the way — 

Refresh my soul with mem'ry's ebb and flow. 
Do I remember — fondly yet recall — 

That dream of love in our sweet long ago ? 
And has grey time not chang'd — change lent no pall, 

Neglect not kill'd nor hunger starved it — "No .?" 

Again the birds — low peeping in their nest, 

Their melodious, happy carols sing; 
And drowsily the scarce awakened breeze. 

Sweet perfume showers in the lap of Spring. 
The same strange thrill, through pulse and heart and 
brain. 

Luxuriant moss of downy softness sends: 
Is it that love — as life — alike brings pain 

And Fate our steps would guard — this warning 
lends .? 



HELEN SHELBY, 83 

And overhead — starred here and there with blue 

Of God's own heavens, radiantly bright — 
The soughing branches form a canopy, 

All emerald — heav'n lending saphires light. 
The moss grown oak, whose roots are laved by spray 

All sparkling, cool, from yonder silv'ry rill — 
Its shelter gave as temple, on that day, 

Do you remember love ? Ah, hush — be still ! 

An avalanche of bliss crowds heart and soul — 

The rills sweet flow — wee birdies in their nest. 
The murmuring cadence of the sighing breeze — 

The light of heaven — all ! all — tear my breast ! 
In unquench'd thirst I stand beside the rill; 

In nameless want, recall the long ago — 
Will nothing ease Love's hunger — nothing fill 

Love's void, when love has flown — but love's 
twin — Woe ! 



84 POEMS BY 



EVENING SHADES. 



One by one the long shadows come creeping; 

Regretfully ling'ring, the dying day fades: 
The vesper hymns sung, wee birdies sleeping, 

Evening is born, 'neath heavenly shades. 

Robed in gentleness, the young mother — Night — 
Clasps within fond arms, in a yearning embrace 

The infant, born e're her — whilst silvery light 

Sheds crescent and star, upon Night's dreamy face. 

The long shadows deepen, wistfully, tender — 

Already Orion approaches the west: 
And my visions and dreams of heavenly splendor — 

With Night and her shadows— are sinking to rest. 



HELEN SHELBY. 85 

Once only, my dream is tremblingly broken — 
A nightingale's sad strain breathes all that I feel, 

Sending to absent mate, love's sweetest token, 
A voice fraught with longing, love only can heal. 

And balm and healing, there is believe me, 

In love for every ache under the sun. 
Then welcome love — we too would receive thee — 

And with thee the God, who with love is one. 



S6 POEMS BY 



'MAY."* 



As a May-morn bright, was ''her" sunny smile; 

Her laughter, as birds between: 
And the cloud of pain that would force its way 
Too oft, on the face, yet in childhood's day, 

Lent a halo — a look serene. 

But the rhythm of death in its ebb and tide, 

Envied mortals this flow'ret fair: 
And with icy hand came the prince of night, 
With despatch and power from highest might — 

To transplant this blossom rare. 



Died Oct. 3, 1 890. 



HELEN SHELBY. 87 

To transplant — not to pluck ! Ah, love doth give 

True balm to the stricken soul; 
For love built the Heaven, and faith doth live 
In the hearts of them to whom love doth give 

Faith's power — love's uncontrol ! 

Love even'd the path for "her" weary feet, 

Faith trusted and hoped "she" would stay: 
But a banquet was spread in royal hall — 
Fair blossoms were needed, "she" chosen of all — 
To bloom in eternal "May!" 



88 POEMS BY 

MIRAGE. 



I stand as of yore — in life's ocean tide — 

And play as with shells, with life's fears: 
And with a child's true daring carelessness, 
Defy winds and waves with a recklessness — 
Born of joy in laughter's arrears. 

And many fair gem from the ocean deep. 

The rolling waves lay at my feet: 
And many rare promise of mist and spray- — 
In bright colors veiling realities grey- 
Arise, bearing visions o'er sweet. 

But I long in a vain and misty way, 

For the wonders of realms beyond, 
And my soul turns from joys that might be mine, 
To sea foam and shadows, and worm-wood's 
wine, 

Which I'd drink to Fame as a bond. 



HELEN SHELBY. 89 

I mean no injustice to Fame, not I ! 

Nor would hint in an obscure way, 
That in Fame was sought an equivalent, 
For losses and pain that the heart once rent — 

That Fame's disappointments pay ! 

And yet — can the splendor of laurel'd fame 
Stand 'gainst days of childhood's trust ? 

When all life's varnish, life's tinsel untold, 

As real seemed as burnish'd gold, ^ 
And Fame but the echo of dust. 



90 POEMS BY 



LONE-NESS. 



Why seems my day so dark, the heavens leaden 

Oft times to me ? 
Why feel such hunger in the midst of feasting ? 

It cannot be 
The sun shines less today than in the days gone by, 

When life was young, and joy grew swift as time: 
Now all my joys as bubbles, broken by a sigh, 

But shadows seem from far off happy clime. 
In vain I ask that shadows real grow e're long; 
In vain I would regain my freedom by a song. 



HELEN SHELBY. 91 

The weakness of today shrouds my tomorrow 

In mist and gloom; 
And comfort for a past in vain I'd borrow 

From future's loom. 
It may not be, I ask too much perchance; but why 

Did Nature cause this void — Time fill with pain 
.The same: then showing me my poverty, teach me 
to sigh, 
And hope, and long, and hunger, but in vain. 
And what is it, I ask } Would I love's uncontrol .-^ 
Ah! no not love, but **One-Ness" with some great 
soul. 



92 POEMS BY 



THE FRIEND OF ASPIRING WOMAN IS MAN. 



I love them all, those fragile fashioned ones 
Whom nature's laws decreed as part with me; 

Their looks, soft touch and gentle tone of voice, 
All please my heart, give birth to sympathy. 

But, when my soul's called forth to larger wave 
That needs the firm and muscular arm of will 

To stem the current, breast the waters wild — 
And vict'ry bear o'er mountain, sea and hill, 

I turn from sighs, from soft retaining hands. 

From low hush'd tones, of "what the world will 
say!" 

"I fear no world — I'll shape my own, and then 
That world is mine, to hold or fling away." 



HELEN SHELBY. 93 

And hold my world — ah, by the Heav'ns, I will, 

Despite all prejudice may do or say; 
And whilst my soul be pure, why need I fear 

Them who would judge tomorrow by today?" 

Am I severe, unjust to womankind ? 

Ah, then I pray forgive me, if you can; 
I would not speak thus harshly, yet I find 

The aspiring woman's friend is man. 



94 POEMS BY 

CREATIVE LOVE. 



When the heart is too full for utt'rance, 

When the lips are by silence sealed; 
And the eyes in their depths look troubled, 

Fearing wonders, unrevealed! 
And a kiss to the soul confesses, 

Love's boundless intensity — 
It is then that a God caresses, 

Those of time — with eternity. 

When heart, soul and reason united, 

For kinship do plead with their God, 
And then through a love — that requited — 

Creators would too be untrod: 
Untrammel'd by law or dictation. 

That a duty on love would impose; 
For love is itself the soul's ration — 

Through love immortality rose ! 



HELEN SHELBY. 95 

And love will continue in splendor, 

Creating forever anew; 
And life it will flow on and render 

Others happy — as I and you ! 
And all who a like love shall know here, 

Will doubt, when to heavens above 
Be ascribed rarer bliss than we know, dear, 

In moments of creative love. 



96 POEMS BY 



TRUTH. 



A lonely wanderer — footsore and weary — 

A stranger in a stranger land: 
Will no one bid him welcome, no one tarry 

Close at his side — then forward hand in hand ? 
Do you who prate of Christ, fear this new might ? 
Then know that all truth follows in his light ! 
You cannot separate the two, they stand 
As one ! as truth, pre-eminently grand ! 

Each truth — discovered in the world of man 

Is as Christ crucified; and then 
When opposition's hate, its force has spent, a span 

Wherein all cry: ''Who slew this friend of Men?' 
A little while, the fires built by shame, 
Continue on, in purifying flame; 
Until the next truth, struggling into life, 
Once more awakens scarce hush'd hatred's strife. 



HELEN SHELBY. 97 

Why is it, that we find so hard to yield 
The right of light to other day than ours ? 

Why covet from the soil we till'd, the field 

Another's labor crowns with fruit and flowers ? 

And why should man wage war against the truth ? 

The same remains in spite of hate forsooth; 

And tho' we kneel and pray, yet truth impede, 

Unworthy of its temple is such creed. 



POEMS BY 



I KNOW GOD'S GOOD. 



Ah ! no. I cannot doubt a bliss, 
Of which I hold an ample share; 

There is a heav'n — love argues this, 
A heav'n, a God, to smite or spare. 

Is not my heaven where'ere thou art } 

Then in heaven's realms I dwell with thee, 

And God, the whole, with love is part, 
And love is immortality. 

And Paradise the home of saints, 

And seat of love, and throne of grace, 

Is it more dear because of feints 

By which a doubt would hide God's face.-^ 

I know God's good; your love so tells 
Me in a thousand diff'rent ways; 

Yes, God is good, and he who fells 

God's goodness, likewise ends love's days; 



HELEN SHELBY, 99 

For love, apart from God, must die. 
And with love dies the Godhead too; 

Ah! whilst I love thee, sweetheart, I 
Must needs adore a God who's true. 

And true forevermore I'll hold 

Him, who made me as part of you; 

How could my heart toward Him grow cold 
Who long ere I my wants all knew. 

And knowing them, perfected me 

Through you ? Ah! yes — He understood 

The might of love; that makes two see 
With one accord that God is good. 



lOO POEMS BY 

DO YOU KNOW HIM? 



His life's a burden to himself and me — 

[As with him I'm in constant strife:] 
A martyr is he to the housewife's skill, 

Who with pie crust would shorten his life! 
And the fermentation of spices rich, 

That a popular preacher endures, 
Are enough to confuse all gospel truths 

To which he'd treat me, you and yours. 

Should your soul — despite its doctrinal feed — 

Once reject a draft on Faith's bond; 
You would rudely startle the saintly man 

Who'd anticipate Faith's abscond: 
"Your soul will be lost if you deviate 

From the Lord's will, clear as day — 
The Lord's will — that I make known to you," 

This attorney of God will say. 

And then to expound this will, he tries, 
With unction well fitting his call: 



HELEN SHELBY. lOl 

While he folds his well-kept righteous hands— 

To show his submission to all. 
An occasional twist to his clerical tie, 

'"Gainst the danger of losing his head" — 
[For ministers, too, are sometimes men 

Preferring the fleshpots to bread.] 

He steps abroad with a well fed air — 

[A shepherd, watchful of his flock:] 
And if by Satan sometimes run down, 

He recovers — thank God — from the shock. 
If call'd to account by a God fearing board 

Of deacons — their very first care 
Is to assure themselves he does not know 

That they, too, alas, have their share; 

Of the weakness of flesh ! Ah, me— it's plain- 
That man's very much the same 

The wide world over. What is fish to the first, 
No second accepts as game ! 

And it turns my head, so that it swims, 
When I'd ponder o'er — "What is sin? 

And who the sinner — Is it he who leads, 
Or he who is taken in ?" 



102 POEMS BY 

CONTRADICTION. 



Do you — tho' climes divide us — too 
Feel this storm of sweet delight? 

Searching all my being through, 
Filling all my soul with bright 

Radiance; such as no life knows, 

Until the soul a-Maying goes. 

Oft when evening shadows end 
A long, weary, toilsome day, 

I sit and watch a "Goodness" blend 
With night's chill gloom, a ray 

Of silv'ry splendor, here and there, 

Making night, as love's dream, fair. 

And when the night, approaching fast, 
Would kindly hide my voiceless woe, 

I regret deeply that my past 
No pages of remorse does show. 

And can you understand this strain — 

And do you fathom regret's pain .? 



HELEN SHELBY. 103 

Regrets are for the unknown bliss, 

And all the joy that ''might have been:" 

Remorse, recalling passion's kiss — 
A Psyche having love once seen — 

Have both had their deep longing still'd; 

Have both been by Love's rapture thrill'd. 

And yet I speak of happiness 

In the first stanza of this lay; 
Then suffer pain at thought's caress. 

That shows me woe in regret's day: 
And would that deep remorse my lot — 
To have known the sweets of ''what was not !" 

"What was not — " Ah ! and could it be, 
Would realization all complete — 

Prove half of all that, promised me 
By my imagination fleet ? 

Ah, yes ! In anticipations sweet, 

Imagination is indiscreet. 



104 POEMS BY 



A MAY MORN. 



On a bright May morn — 

When skies gleamed blue and birdlings sang, 
And all this universe one earthly paradise — 
I met him, whom I'd loved alway, 

Of whom, and in whose praise all poets rang 
Out, in rhyme and tuneful lay: 
Or is it not what poets say — 
''Honor to the brave, the fearless and true: 
Of whom we would sing; in whose light we grew." 

Since that bright May morn, 

When all the joys of Heaven seemed my part — 
December's chill and cruel storms 
Have laid low ev'ry bud and bloom of Spring — 

Bore frost and blight into my heart ; 
Where lies the corse of the bright May day, 
That promised me bloom and bud alway; 
To last beyond time, beyond change and grave, 
A love ever ready to succor and save. 



HELEN SHELBY. 105 

DIE ZAUBERSTUNDE.* 



Come little chickens, the blinds are drawn, 

And lighted are candles two; 
And cheerily burns the oaken log, 

In the open grate for you. 
And seated so cosy are we three 

In the time worn, wide armchair, 
I'll tell to you stories wonderful, 

And croon to you songs so rare. 

We'll dream of princes and fairy folk. 

Of birds and beautiful things; 
Of silvery bells that breathe a pray'r. 

And the rustle of angel wings ! 
We'll travel far as the polar star, 

Up and down the milky way; 
Call on our friend the man in the moon, 

And bid the two bears good day ! 



"The magic hour. 



:o6 HELEN SHELBY, 

And as we're so near, we'd better stop, 
And see the great warrior bold, 

Who for ages past, has stood his ground, 
Without legs, or where to hold ! 

The candles are burning very low; 
The time for ''good night" has come: 

So farewell Orion, shine out pale moon, 
^ Naught's left of the total sum. 



HELEN SHELBY. 



107 



CONSCIENCE, OR TOLSTOI'S ''KREUTZER 
SONATA." 

We, born of flesh, and thus of flesh the heirs 

Of inconsistency, all know a dread; 
A fear — well nigh a horror — claim'd ["Not Ours"]! 

That each would from the other hide, instead, 
Assume the fearless front of dauntless Truth — 

Whose royal ermine by our falsehood hid, 
We would deny; proclaiming it in sooth, 
A useless robe, worn out ! fray'd — better rid 
The world of rags. Such is our hue and cry; 
And on we revel in the gauze of sin, 
Ourselves forgetting that the web is thin. 
And that our deeds our avow'd creeds belie. 
Confronted by a Tolstoi, or a fall ! 
*'Our conscience does make cowards of us all !" 
And what else can a coward say or do. 
Than rail at Truth, declaring it not true ? 
And Truth, dismay'd, downtroden and despis'd. 
Leaves Time to find us out: by Time appris'd — 
We learn at last, '' 'tis no avail to flout;" 
Time requites wrong: Our sin has found us out. 



io8 POEMS BY 



AMEN. 



Not in the ocean of passion, 

Not in the sea of tears, 
Not in a reigning fashion, 

Nor in the mist of years; 
Would I bury my sweet, mad pleasure, 

A pleasure that came and went; 
A fierce, wild, surging measure, 

A joy by dreamland sent. 

I deemed it mine forever. 

So held it with careless clasp; 
No cruel fate should sever. 

No other hand should grasp 
The bliss that I weened mine only; 

Mine only — my diadem ! 
My crown, set for me solely — 

Yet paste proved ev'ry gem. 



HELEN SHELBY. 109 

And tinsel, tarnish'd and worthless, 

The crown that gleam'd all gold; 
And dark, drear, chill and mirthless, 

My heart, too soon grown old. 
And now I would gather each fragment, f!!!!^ 

Each thread-bare shred of past bliss. 
And drown in waters stagnant, 

Each thought of all I miss. 

And as the ocean of passion 

Sweeps o'er the grave thus made. 
In swift, fierce, murderous fashion. 

And slay me, time betrayed ! 
It shall but swell the chorus 

Of a strain I'd hear again, 
A burst both sweet and glorious, 

A finale ''Grand Amen." 



no POEMS BY 

SAVED. 



I had grown an embittered skeptic, 

From a past abuse of my trust; 
And I turned from love's sweet story, 

To feast upon doubt's bitter crust. 
The years in their flow proved an ocean, 

Where icebergs grew, chilling the blood; 
And unable to tide such emotion, 

I sank in the depths of the flood. 

In my misery, I grew more callous, 

Doubting all that I heard of truth ! 
And held age but a record of errors. 

As aspirants to them, all youth. 
Did you speak to me of a hereafter, 

I peopled it only with air — 
Heaven itself had lost all attraction — 

Without love and hope, what is there 1 

I pitied babes forced into being — 

What could they do other than come .'* 

Those wee, helpless dots of condition. 
To whom a circumstance granted some 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 1 1 

Breath; small forces, a world of endurance; 

The last ever at war with death: 
Yes, I held them as the fruit of error, 

Life — lengthening, feeding death's breath. 

The sun, marking my day of endeavor. 

Now stood pointing toward high noon; 
Would the evening shadows gather: 

Doubt's night know neither star or moon ? 
Ah, night no more ! Faith's golden splendor, 

With love, now triumphs o'er the fall: 
'T believe in you dear," pure lips whispered. 

And a hand clasped mine — ''that is all." 

Yes, that is all; but it's all redemption, 

All grace, all bliss, eternal life ! 
Ah ! can you dream what sight to the blind is, 

And peace to a soul, that torn with strife t 
Now every day repeats love's story. 

Reaching forth to a new night laved. 
And gemmed and starred with passion's glory, 

That breathes to my soul, "Thou'rt saved !" 



112 - POEMS BY 



FANCIES WEAVING. 



Alone in mind's court I sit idly weaving, 

Fair pictures of a coming greatness and might; 

A calm, sunlit sky, a love just conceiving — 

And these things I dream, as I watch the clouds' 
flight. 

In pale misty blue, the planets revolving, 
Appear as but drops in an infinite whole — 

Whil'st He, who is whole, begot us resolving 
That love must continue, absorbing the soul. 

Thus love on entering the soul of a mortal. 
Creates a fierce hunger, a yearning for more; 

And life spreads a feast, the table — death's portal, 
And we eat, drink and pay, to death, for love's 
store ! 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 1 3 

Who follows my fancy, conceives with the singer, 
Fathoms the sea's depths, concealed by the wave: 

And can I lament that the throng will not linger, 
With me gather the sweets, that life's byways 
pave ? 

Yet I sigh and mourn, when into my dreaming 
An awakening hurls grim fact's shafts of might; 

Destroying all castles and areal seeming, 

Proclaiming as smoke all my fond hope's flight. 

And the weird, strange, fanciful shapes still linger, 
Far up in the limitless space of pure blue, 

And I, with a pain at my heart, like a singer 
Bereft of his voice, sit and think dear, of you ! 



114 POEMS BY 

MY GUIDING STAR! 



I know of a beautiful palace, 

Outrivalling- the myths of old; 
Where truth flows from love's own chalice, 

Where everything is pure gold ! 
It contains many a chamber, 

Many a banquet hall so grand, 
Many spiral stairs, to clamber. 

When in search of wonderland. 

Its closets are fill'd with treasures, 

And priceless gems untold; 
And fabrics not yet measured, 

Spacious strongholds might unfold. 
And, oh, such beautiful story, 

[Growing in wonder day by day. 
Filling all its space with glory,] 

Thrill its pulsing walls alway. 



HELEN SHELBY. 115 

Its halls they are never lonely, 

But swarm with constant guest, 
Who appear at the mind's beck, only 

They not always depart at request ! 
But oft'times they linger in anguish, 

And flee from such thoughts as were gay, 
Into woe's dim recess to languish, 

There to await oblivion's day. 

Just beyond its court, a boundless 

Sea, of clear crystal waters sweet; 
Telling my doubting soul, all groundless 

Are its fears, lest faltering feet 
Some day bring sadness and sorrow. 

To darken those halls within, 
Forgive me dear eyes, I'll not borrow 

For your pure depths, the shadow of sin. 



POEMS BY 

But will trust to your soul by truth guarded, 

To keep all its mansions pure gold; 
And tho' night come, 'tis follow'd by morning, 

And each morning new glories unfold. 
And the years in their middle-day splendor, 

But add to the stores now contained 
In the halls of your heart so tender, 

Whose bounty no measurement maim'd. 

And when my own soul grows weary. 

And sees nothing in life but death; 
With no hope for a mend more clearly. 

Than that care is the keynote of breath ! 
I will haste to the gates of this palace. 

As a leper, I'll plead from afar; 
Grant me but a draught from love's chalice, 

Let your soul be my guiding star. 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 1 7 

NEMESIS. 



I tell you truly there is no forgetting, 

The deed of wrong that the will once wrought; 
No amount of remorse, no sighs, no fretting, 

No slaying of conscience can make it naught. 
You may court forgetfulness, relish slumber. 

Intoxicate with pleasures untold; 
Seek new diversion in friends without number, 

Bury all feeling 'neath pride's stronghold. 

But the day will come, the moment unguarded. 

When vis-a-vis with the soul shall stand 
The deed of wrong, to whom fate has awarded 

The role of avenger, from Pluto's land ! 
While a band of demons following after. 

All burdened with wrongs, that shall enflame 
The furnace of self reproaches, with laughter 

Would welcome you to their midst of shame. 



1 18 POEMS BY - 

No eye save the one of your soul may tremble 

At this vision born at hell's command; 
Your arts still be might, your power to dissemble, 

[You slayer of trust, by conscience damn'd,] 
May still stand an armor 'gainst all detection, 

Defying all save memories' sting; 
And this of all tortures known the perfection, 

You'll find in mind's realm, with Nemesis king. 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 19 



YOU KISSED ME. 



You kissed me — 
And with a strange delight my world grew bright; 

The mists in my soul broke as spray — 
In their death-giving place to trust's great wave, 
That roll'd in from love's sea — whose waters lave — 

All hung'ring for charity's ray. 
For love is charity — and love's fair sea, 
By your kiss was open'd to you and me. 

You kissed me — 
And my blood, that calm as a purling stream, 

Knew but a rhythm from heart to brain, 
Stood still: I grew cold ! Was it death — this bliss 1 
Then what sweeter death than die on a kiss: 

[Who would barter for life love's pain ?] 
I could not struggle nor resent the might, 
Of Love's sweet power and my fond soul's flight. 



120 POEMS BY 

You kissed me — 
And my soul in that kiss came back to me, 

Impregnated with Love's fierce flame ! 
And the chill of Love's dawn became the whole 
Uncurb'd fury of passion's uncontrol; 

That rushed to my brain in eager claim — 
Then as lava torrent, back to my heart; 
Forging soul unto soul with quiver and dart. 

You kissed me — 
And the dawn of a great day came to me, 

I knew I was blessed of God: 
I knew that tho' parted by land and sea, 
Your love would be mine in eternity. 

Mine ! crowned now, and power shod. 
For of woman's life the crown is Love ! 
And Love the power of the Heav'n above. 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 2 1 



ALTOONA. 



The hills may gaze on Marathon, 

And Marathon upon the sea; 
And boundless oceans urge upon 

Man's soul a thirst for liberty. 
Yet more than all that tongue can tell, 

I feel in this heav'n haunted place; 
Where ev'ry zephyr — wild winds swell — 

A poem breathes of nature's grace. 

My cradle stood in foreign land, 

Aught there perchance my heart too be } 
Where it then stood still let it stand — 

My soul now bows to liberty! 
And tho' the world, both far and near. 

Bade me a home to choose among 
Her lands: my answer given clear: 

"For me, America, the strong." 



122 POEMS BY 

And in this land of all lands blessed 

Is there a spot more fair than this ? 
"Thou mountain dream by God caressed, 

Thou consequence of nature's kiss !" 
Altoona, fair poetic dream, 

Of beauty thee the -queen I call; 
Both Psyche thou and Venus seem, 

Wonder of constant rise and fall. 

Such swelling meads, such glorious woods, 

Such dreams of emerald and love! 
Ah! yes, dame nature understood 

To woo the vales through hills above. 
The gods upon thy hills have trod. 

From thence have gazed on vales below, 
And kindled in the very sod 

The desire, one — 'With Love's warm glow, 



HELEN SHELBY. 123 

And hills may gaze on Marathon, 

And Marathon upon the sea; 
And other bards may dwell upon 

The charm of waters not in thee. 
Yet I forever more shall sing 

To thee my songs of constant praise: 
Fair Altoona — let mountains ring, 

In one grand burst — thy fame to raise. 



124 POEMS BY 



'TWAS NOT TO BE. 



'Twas not to be — yet neither can'st thou forget me; 

On land, on sea, or wheresoe'er thou art, 
The mem'ry of our fond, fierce love shall fret thee; 

And with wild longing fill thy hung'ring heart. 

'Twas not to be — the brittle bonds are severed 
That held our souls, twin flowers on one stem: 

The dust received one, broken and dishevell'd. 
The other'd deck a newer diadem. 

'Twas not to be — love's fondest hopes lie shatter'd; 

My clay form'd idol could scarce sustain a fall: 
Must love's fair warp and woof be ever tattered; 

To prove — when love does spin fate weaves a pall ? 



HELEN SHELBY. 125 

'Twas not to be — would I retard fate's weaving ? 

Far better win of newer fabrics spun: 
The ocean's calm but serves for new upheaving — 

A prize is scarce a prize when once 'tis won. 

And love that is — is scarce the love we deemed it 

When yet **to be:" our hopes upon life's sea 
Were bent to win the harbor! Ah, fate sealed it, 
And made it sweet as death though ''not to be." 



126 POEMS BY 



WHY! 



Why waste we time in sadness, 

Why pull against the stream: 
Why frown at others' gladness; . 

Why aren't we what we seem ? 

Why prefer night and darkness 
To the gladsome light of day; 

Why cramp our thoughts as stowaways, 
When they might have range and play ? 

Why treat we those unkindly 

Who mostly need our help; 
Why follow we so blindly 

Those weaker than ourself ? 



HELEN SHELBY, 127 

Why draw on the strength of others, 
While our own's let run to waste; 

Why deny man as brother, 
Why the cup of hatred taste ? 

Why sow we seed of darkness, 

To reap the thorns some day ? 
And why reject Truth's happiness. 

That might be ours alway ? 

This world might be an eden 

Where heart would beat for heart, 

With Love and Truth sole priestess — 
Were we all to do our part. 



28 POEMS BY 



LOOKING. 



I look upon the crumpled pages of my past, 

That strew the path about my onward falt'ring feet, 
And meet fair visions of a dream that could not last; 
Nor could its bud and bloom remain'd forever 
sweet. 
Do I regret it then — this vanish'd dream so sweet? 
Ah ! no, dear heart, yet today's joy were incom- 
plete 
If no stray thought [however sad it be] were cast 
Upon the sea of time, where floats my wreckage 
past. 



HELEN SHELBY. 129 

And tho' the tide of time roll high, my wreck 
gleams fair: 
My dream tho' dreamed, still haunts with memor- 
ies sweet, 
The bud and blossom — cull'd from out my life [tho 
rare !] 
Yet went to fill with fragrance the path for other 
feet. 
And on the pages lived, there beams sweet com- 
passion, 
A truth so sure, so blest; and time but swells its 
might : 
That every wreck [however sad] but fashions 
A sure foundation for a stronger, grander site. 



130 POEMS BY 



LONGING.^ 



I found no repose in slumber, 

Last night when all was still; 
A nightingale's sweet strain woke me, 

And held my soul at will. 
My casement I opened so gently. 

And gazed on the dream fraught lea. 
The bird his sweet song was singing 

My darling, of thee — of thee! 

No thought in my soul but of thee; 

To thee I send love's glance, 
And tho' thou has't wounded me deeply, 

It does but my love enhance. 



From the German. 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 31 

A sigh borne on dreamiest breezes, 

I fancy I hear afar; 
'Tis but the dew from the linden 

That falls, falls, so does my star! 

Oh! think not that I could forget thee, 

Trust to my love's strong might: 
Deep into my soul I'd press thee. 

And bear thee through charnel night. 
Up to yon far star's sparkle, 

Where love ne'er fadeth away: 
Up, up, despite death and tomb's darkness, 

I'd bear thee to Heaven's bright day. 



132 POEMS BY 



GONE BEFORE. 



A small mound 'neath the lilies, 

A mound with daisies decked, 
A rustling, silv'ry willow, 

Whose drooping branches wept; 
An angel pointing upward, 

A name and nothing more; 
And farther on a footstone. 

And on it, "Gone Before." 

Beneath the willow's branches, 

Close to the flow'r strewn mound, 
A lonely, black robed figure 

Oft knelt in prayer profound; 
And sobs and words of pleading. 

With promises so fair, . 
How mamma must have baby. 

Oft breaks the stillness there. 



HELEN SHELBY. 133 

Poor mother ! by grief haunted, 

Her soul mourns baby's loss: 
Poor mother! passion daunted, 

She may not see the cross. 
And naught of comfort whisper 

Those words, two less than four, 
Traced in the spotless marble, 

How baby'd '*Gone Before." 

Poor mother ! cease your crying, 

Bereft, are you less blest } 
Lives not your little darling 

In God, in God found rest.? 
Then why oppose a power. 

The flesh's decree of yore; 
In God the whole continues. 

Each atom **Gone Before." 



134 POEMS BY 



TO SPRING. 



A garb of Titian splendor thou has't given 
To all creation; chanting psalms of praise 

Of Him — His goodness, whom love in the Heavens 
A throne has placed, to hold whilst Time knows 
days. 

From palest emerald to Hope's deepest emblem, 
All nature sings one lasting song of love: 

The Maker's vigor. His endowing passion — 
Has enter'd all, as sunlight from above. 

In nectared wine, whose color breathes emotion, 
The lissome boughs of maples have been steep'd: 

In gold and carmine, portraying love's devotion. 
Fair blossoms into life and rapture leap'd. 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 3 5 

And hill and dale all breathe the selfsame story, 
Each living thing would walk with love a pace; 

The meadow chaste, array'd in love's strange glory, 
Would clasp the mountain chill in close embrace. 

My pulses too, seem thrill'd with rare emotion, 
And struggle strangely in their cells of clay: 

Veins all too narrow seem, for passion's ocean, 
Too weak the flesh to stand out 'gainst the spray. 



136 POEMS BY 

YOU WOULD KNOW. 



You would know why the month of May brings me 

An unrest and clouded brow: 
Well, come and sit close beside me dear, 

And I will tell to you how — 
All on a bright May morning came 

To me — a heavenly guest, 
Whose splendor and radiance steeped is bliss 

Hid the cold grave of my rest. 

''And could not the splendor, the bliss of love. 

Have defied the grave's cold grey T' 
Ah! yes, had love remained sweet child: 

But love soon flew away. 
And I thrust my heart, while the sere leaves fell 

Into anguish's wretched tomb; 
Yet often at night it will rise and come. 

And phantom like pierce the gloom! 



HELEN SHELBY. 

And pressing up close to my couch's side, 

With palsy each pulse would lame; 
While my soul turns faint with longing wild, 

For a joy I dare not name. 
And with each May comes Love's natal day, 

And mem'ries of grave and gloom, 
And visions so sweet of a might have been, 

And a heart since then a tomb. 

And while life lasts — and tho' it last full long — 

It shall know "Flesh's" hung'ring cry, 
For what tho' buried and hid away 

Love in life must feast, or die ! 
And we who would struggle against this might. 

Do but deny nature's creed: 
Evolution itself — eternal life, 

Are but fruit of demand and need. 



137 



138 POEMS BY 



SING TO ME, BIRDLING. 



Sing to me birdling, of comfort and rest, 

Charm by thy sweet strain all care from my breast: 

Teach me a lesson of infinite trust, 

Draw my soul upward, past sin and the dust; 

So that my life and my record as well, 

One song may but show, one story but tell. 

And that ever be a strain clear as thine. 
To comfort the weary as sweet sunshine: 
Making bright for someone each toilsome day. 
Helping on thousands on their weary way ! 
Ah, me ! little birdling of upward wing. 
Teach me, I pray thee, as thou but to sing. 



HELEN SHELBY. 1 39 

Sing to me birdling, of a higher life 
Awaiting the victor, who braved the strife i 
Sing of the splendor of the ransomed throng, 
Sing, ah, wee birdling, sing God's own song! 
Filling my soul with its infinite love. 
Drawing me nearer to the Heaven's above. 



140 POEMS BY 

A PRAYER. 



Oh, God ! Creator — 
Whoe'er Thou art, whate'er Thou art; 

Let me know Thee ! 
Say to my soul, Thy brother part, 

"Peace be with thee:" 

Redeeming me. 
They claim to know Thee all. Oh, God ! 

Who taught to call Thee Father — shun the light: 
Yet God is Light; and in me too, 

I feel a spark, a gleam, akin to might. 
And God is might, as mighty things are God; 
And mightier far is Truth than law or rod: 
And seek I all those truths my soul can grasp. 
Then firm I'll stand in might, and feel God's clasp. 

Oh, God ! so near to Thee I draw — 
The light is breaking, darkness now must flee, 

In agony I'll cry no more, 



HELEN SHELBY. 141 

Oh, God ! Creator ! Show Thyself to me. 

Thou has't shown me 
Whoe'er Thou art, whate'er Thou art, 

I now know Thee ! 
My soul, Thy brother part, has learn'd 

The peace in Thee, 

Redeeming me. 



142 POEMS BY 



REASONABLE. 



Thought, the beautiful maiden, 

By Reason was woo'd and won: 
And no more perfect union 

By Love had e'er been spun. 
Their life, one dream of endeavor, 

To reach all the greatness beyond, 
Drew Thought on to Reason's centre, 

Made Reason of Thought more fond. 

Thought constantly aided Reason, 

And Reason knew no command: 
[Ah, would such perfect union 

Were man's in every land.] 
One day. Thought, pensively musing, 

[Reason an unreasonable tax 
To pay, had been gone since morning] 

Found her tension grow somewhat lax, 



HELEN SHELBY. 143 

She meant no wrong to Reason, 

As she lay in pensiveness, 
Nor was she plotting treason, 

In the joy of a strange caress. 
He came as a thief, so softly, 

She had heard not his approach — 
Before she knew he possessed her: 

Nay, nay, do not Thought reproach. 

For Thought was Thought no longer. 

But the prey of unhappiness, 
Who using Reason's absence. 

Won Thought through his caress. 
I would this story's moral 

Would cut like a good sharp axe, 
No chance been for unhappiness, 

If there had been no tax. 



44 POEMS BY 



WHEN TWO SWEET BONDS WOULD SEVER.^ 



When two sweet bonds would sever, 
They clasp their hands and lend 

Balm to theblow by weeping, 
And sighing without end. 

We neither wept, nor sigh'd we, 

In unison with pain: 
But tears and bitter sorrow 

Came when too late, in vain! 



From the German of Heine. 



HELEN SHELBY. 145 



HEAR I THE SWEET SONG'S MUSIC. 



Hear I the sweet song's music 
That once my darling sang, 

Through all my bosom surges 
Of pain, the fiercest pang. 

And driv'n by nameless longing, 
I'd seek the mountain's height, 

Where the torrent of my mourning 
Find outlet in tears' might. 



146 POEMS BY 



A VOYAGE, 



Within the calm, smooth harbor of childhood, 

A beautiful vessel once lay, 
Awaiting life's deep sea's rising tide, 

That should bear her far away. 
Far away to a long'd for "Better Land," 
Where priceless jewels line shore and strand; 

Of womanhood's mystical day I 

So joyously flutters each silken sail. 
Her deck by a noble crew is manned: 

Low gurgling waters they lap her sides, 
Breathing of mysteries for her planned; 

And she strains at the anchor holding her fast. 

Linking her with a happy childhood passed — 
And the blue sky o'er childhood's land. 



HELEN SHELBY. 147 

She floats at last into waters strange, 

Hope as helmsman at her stern; 
And beautiful Faith, whose sightless eyes, 

With a deep, strange yearning burn! 
While her face remains turned to the distant sky, 
In quest of the royal guest from on high. 

Whose power and flame she would learn. 

By many a beauteous harbor they 

Pass calm and proudly by: 
Our goal is other than passing joy, 

Our goal it is love, they cry ! 
We could not barter such bliss unknown, 
For a tranquil repose when we have flown 

So far, to meet him life's ''May!" 



148 POEMS BY 

And love crossed at last this vessel's course, 

And linger'd by her side a span; 
But love it is fickle, and life's sea wide, 

And high oft' the fierce waves ran. 
Alone! on the seething billowy deep, 
Where lashing waves madly over her sweep. 

Ah! follow her course if you can. 

And crushed by passion, blighted by drouth, 

She wearily sighs for rest; 
And from storm and wildly dashing waves. 

She would enter an harbor, bless'd. 
But her course is lost and her strength is spent, 
And in vain she sighs for the way she went 

From the beautiful sea of her youth. 



HELEN SHELBY, 149 

CHOICE. 



Why should I choose to bear your name: 

Have I lived nameless up to now ? 
''You thought all womankind the same — 

All spinning matrimonial tow." 
Well, what of that } What though 'tis true } 

Not one whit nearer to your goal, 
Does this truth bring your object — you — 

Then why pursue it on the whole. 
Tow may be tow, as womankind 

May be the same in as you say; 
But ropes [despite that love is blind], 

Do differ — yes, in many way ! 
All men as tow, a chance may stand, 

Of tying into nuptual knot; 
But I would rather a free hand. 

Than find that I a string had got. 
"And how will I know to what may cling— 

My heart, my love — my fondest hope .^" 
Ah, reason does not take a string, 

When needs demand an anchor rope. 



150 POEMS BY HELEN SHELBY. 

WE. 



We spend too much time in vain regretting, 

And cherishing phantoms of by gone days: 
We garner no strength from useless fretting — 

Only adding new loss and new delays. 
Why should we burden a scarce born morning 

With the darkness of a probable night; 
Is the future not worth some adorning, 

With other than a past day's blight } 
Forget your dead in the brave endeavor 

To be to the living a friend in deed: 
Deeds, that will live forever and ever— 

Deeds that will stand against death and creed. 



GRIEF AND JOY. 



Great joy oft' holds within its bud 
The cancor worm of doubt, 

While bitterest grief will oft' times help 
k friend's worth to find out. 



